Bound
by Dearly-divided
Summary: Draco had never understood the Hades and Persephone myth. Obsession he knew. Giving it up? Impossible.


Draco had never understood the myth of Hades and Persephone. The obsession, the driving _need_ for Hades to take and to have the object of his desire, that he understood. However, that Hades was willing to part with Persephone for half a year, every year? That was simply beyond him. Draco would burn down the world to keep his obsession, his love, by his side, especially considering how difficult it had been to get her there.

Unlike the god of the underworld, Draco's obsession was not something that suddenly occurred. In fact, he'd actually paid very little attention to her when they had first met, he'd been far more interested in the Boy Who Lived and that repugnant weasel he'd aligned himself with. Of course she quickly gained his attention, it was hard to ignore the insufferable know it all mudblood swot constantly beating him in every test in every class, except perhaps flying.

She was a goody-two-shoes, Gryffindor pain in his ass! He constantly complained about her to his friends, and mocked her mercilessly to her face at every chance he got. He lived for her reactions, delighted in her glowering stare and snappish retorts. He had even laughed when he found out she'd been petrified in second year, though he still remembered the strange hollowness he'd felt at the thought of Granger dying.

In third year she'd punched him in the straight in the face. A filthy mudblood like Granger had the audacity to hit him! At the time he'd fled in terror but later when the side of his face swelled up and turned an unsightly purple-green he'd been tempted to find her and punish her. He dreamed of throwing her against the wall and hurting her, scaring the living daylights out of her, and for some strange reason, he imagined kissing her.

Then there had been the Yule Ball. She was lovely, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. She'd glided across the room on Victor fucking Krum's arm and all Draco had been able to think was that she was by far the most stunning creature in the room. That night in the darkness of his room while Pansy rode on top of him, it wasn't her name on his lips. It was the first night he got off to the thought of Hermione Granger, but it certainly wasn't the last. After that it was incredibly hard for him to go back to seeing her like he used to; an ugly book worm with bushy hair and an annoying voice. Instead he found himself staring at the curve of her ass as she bent over to pick up her book bag, or the way that her whole face lit up rather prettily when she laughed.

At first he'd been disgusted with himself for allowing a mudblood to hold such power over him. He hated himself for wanting her and hated her more for making him this way. Then, one day, he'd spied her sitting closely in the library with Potter, holding his hand and whispering to him. He watched as she leant across the desk and kissed Potter on the cheek.

It had gone downhill from there really. Where once he had been satisfied with throwing her an insult now and then he began actively seeking her out, trapping her in dark corners of corridors just to be close to her. A better man might have realised that the best way to woo her was not by scaring her or bullying her, but by trying to be a gentleman. Draco however, never claimed to be a good man.

Oh but he loved her. It was undeniable, perhaps the only redeeming quality he had.

It consumed him. Hermione took priority over everything, his schooling, his family, the stupid war raging around them. He went through the motions of course, but his heart was singularly focused on Hermione Granger.

Unlike Hades, Draco was a patient man. He waited out the war, watched with apathetic eyes as Voldemort fell, which he played his own part in to be sure. She was not safe with the Dark Lord in power. He waited until the wizarding world returned to a safer place, watched as the remaining death eaters were rounded up and executed. He had begged and pleaded before the Wizengamot for his life and the lives of his parents. He had been delightedly pleased when she had testified on his behalf and relished the small tense smile she had thrown him when they had declared him free.

He waited for the community to feel safe again, for the fear and paranoia to subside. He waited for her to relax, for her guard dogs to stop walking her home at night, stop calling her everyday to check in. Of course, they never were too far away, Weasel especially, but Draco knew they weren't much of a threat. He was Draco fucking Malfoy, and he had earned her place by his side.

He took her one night under the cover of darkness on her walk home from the ministry. Draco had watched her for weeks, planning his moment. She could have apparated home, used the floo, or even flown in (though he knew her well enough to know that she hated flying), yet muggle habits died hard and she chose to walk every day. That had made it easier.

She'd have fought him tooth and nail if he'd given her the chance, but he was smarter than that. He'd knocked her out cold from behind and they were gone in seconds.

Victory was sweet, and having her for the first time was even sweeter.

He loved her. Even when she glared at him, screamed at him, even when she lashed out at him. It might not have been the love she wanted, but it was hers nonetheless.

He wasn't stupid, and neither was Hermione. He expected her to attempt to escape him and he expected her to be quite clever about it. She hadn't disappointed him in either aspect. She wouldn't escape him. He wouldn't return her, not for six months, not for a single fucking second. The mere thought of her leaving left him breathless with fear, anxiety and longing.

Like Hades he had bound her to him. Not with pomegranates, but ancient blood magic. She could no more leave his side than he could turn into a harpy.

Not that that had stopped her from trying. His beautiful fool.

Of course it was only expected that Potter and the Weasel would come after her. They came with their team of crack aurors, blasting their way into his ancestral home, practically salivating at the thought of locking him up and throwing away the keys.

Unfortunately, the ancient blood magic he'd invoked had been created by his ancestors as part of their marriage ceremonies. It was as binding as a signed contract, and nothing anyone, even the great minister of magic Kingsley Shacklebolt himself could do to reverse it, or to take Hermione away from him.

Not without killing her, him and themselves in the process.

She had begged him to let her go, to let her visit them _just once_! He'd wiped her tears away gently, kissed her forehead and uttered one word. _Never_.

Hermione would not return aboveground to make everything better. The world could suffer an endless winter for all he cared.

It was hard to feel bad for them when he was kissing her sweet, plump lips, his hands tangled in her curls.

She hated him most of all for taking away her chances of leaving. She didn't mind his attention, his constant need to have her by his side. He knew how to make her enjoy herself during sex, even if she loathed herself afterwards. She simply hated her helplessness.

It didn't matter, he would take her hate in place of her love, for the present time being at least. It would be hard to hate him for the rest of their lives. He was nothing if not patient.

He was better with her around. He knew he was a bad person, capable of unspeakable evil, but with her… well, he had better things to do.

He also couldn't deny that the sight of her smile was more fulfilling to him than killing ever had. He would do anything to make her happy, anything but letting her go.

Now as she lay naked and asleep in his arms, the Malfoy wedding ring glittering on her finger, he felt truly at peace.

He felt… dare he say it? Happy.

He loved her.


End file.
